


Not In Love With Your Hair

by ItalicizedPeriod



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Aging, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hair, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Post-His Last Vow, Sherlock's Hair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-07
Updated: 2014-04-07
Packaged: 2018-01-18 13:15:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1429870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItalicizedPeriod/pseuds/ItalicizedPeriod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grey hair comes to us all. What we do about it varies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not In Love With Your Hair

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Eliane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eliane/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Burnished Bright](https://archiveofourown.org/works/847270) by [mydwynter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydwynter/pseuds/mydwynter). 



> It's fluff. It's seriously fluffy. Not much plot. Just shameless fluff.
> 
> I thought of this idea before I remembered the song, but the title, the lines quoted at the beginning and end, and a few obvious bits in the story came from the Randy Travis song “Forever and Ever, Amen.” I modified the lyrics slightly in one place for obvious reasons.
> 
> Edited for art! The other day detectivelyd posted [ this lovely work](http://detectivelyd.tumblr.com/post/82129189871/detectivelyd-full-size-without-glasses-i) and it was entirely a coincidence that I'd just written this, but it goes with it rather well. Linked here with permission.
> 
> Edited again for making sure I am not using other people's work uncredited. I may have unconsciously had Mydwynter's Burnished Bright in my head when I was writing this, so I'm putting it down as "inspired by" just in case, although that work is fairly different from this one and is also better and also has lots, lots more adult content than this does. I recommend it.

"They say that time takes its toll on a body,  
Makes the young girl’s brown hair turn grey.  
But honey, I don't care, I ain't in love with your hair,  
And if it all fell out, well, I'd love you anyway."

It was a quiet, lazy Sunday morning in Baker Street. The residents of 221B had begun their day as they usually did on slow days: with an enthusiastic session of lovemaking. Afterward, John had brought them tea and then drifted back to sleep with his head in Sherlock’s lap, while Sherlock sat up in bed reading a journal article about forensic botany. In other words, little had changed in 221B Baker Street since John had moved in fifteen years ago, except for the most important thing: John and Sherlock were now partners in everything, not just in detective work.

By midmorning, the day had turned cold and bright. The sun coming through the window cast a broad bar of light across the head of the bed. John woke as the light moved across him, and sat up to get his eyes out of the direct sun. Everything in the light seemed almost to glow, where it wasn’t cast into sharp-edged shadow—the edges of the off-white curtains pulled back from the window, the white sheets, the duvet that had gotten kicked onto the floor. The brightest objects, to John’s eyes, were their wedding rings. The plain gold bands, almost ten years old, showed a little wear but still shone brightly in the sun—an observation that never failed to make John smile, because it always reminded him of the first time he’d followed Sherlock around London for a case.

The next brightest thing was Sherlock’s hair, disheveled from the morning’s activity into an even wilder mop than usual. It was dark brown in low light, but in full sunlight, as now, it gleamed and showed reddish or gold highlights. John never tired of looking at it, at the way different light would bring out different colors. He started running his hands through it, another thing he never tired of doing. Sherlock, engrossed in his article, barely noticed, until John switched from just playing with Sherlock’s hair to massaging his scalp with fingertips and nails. Sherlock closed his eyes, smiling, and sighed with pleasure. John felt it was rather like petting a big cat.

As he smoothed Sherlock’s hair back from his face, John noticed something unexpected. At Sherlock’s temple, at the hairline, John could see a section where most of the hairs changed color abruptly, from brown to a very light color just at the root. As he realized what he was seeing, he stopped moving his hands. Sherlock opened his eyes and looked at him inquiringly.

“Sherlock,” said John, “have you been _dyeing your hair_?”

“No, of course not,” said Sherlock, who was suddenly very interested again in his journal, which, it seemed, he could only read by turning his head well away from John. “What would make you think that?”

“You have been, haven’t you!” said John, more amused than anything else. “Why—? No, first, how have I not noticed this before? You must have been doing this for, what, five years? More?”

Sherlock put his journal aside and turned back toward John. With the barest hint of a smile, he said, “Well, John, I suppose it’s because, as ever, you _see_ —”

“—but do not _observe_ ,” finished John, in unison with him. After fifteen years he’d heard it so many times he couldn’t even be bothered to feel insulted. “You know, I don’t usually have such good light when I’m messing with your hair; that’s part of it.”

“You don’t observe properly. That’s most of it. And it’s six.”

“Six what?”

“About six years. Since I started. It wasn’t as easy to see at first, when I had less grey.”

“I guess if we’re on the sofa in the evening, I might be watching telly and just idly playing with your hair, not really looking at it.” Reminded of what he’d been doing, John started combing his fingers through Sherlock’s hair again, but taking time to really look at the roots to see where grey hair was coming in. There was some scattered throughout, but more of it around the temples.

Sherlock said, a bit smugly, “And if we’re in bed, I hope I’m keeping your attention on other things, even if you do like twisting your hands into my hair. Of course,” he added thoughtfully, “one should be able to observe multiple things at the same time.”

“Sherlock,” said John. “Are you telling me that you’ve examined my hair that closely while we’re—? Wait, never mind,” he said, at the same time as Sherlock grinned and said, “Well, maybe not the _whole_ time.”

“But why, Sherlock?” John asked. “You’re not as careless of your appearance as a person might think from all your talk about just ‘transport,’ but I wouldn’t have thought you’d worry about a bit of gray hair.” He twisted a lock of it around one finger.

“Well, I am a professional. One wants to look the part,” said Sherlock, a little defensively.

“Really, Sherlock. You’re almost 50; I don’t think a little gray hair will hurt your image. Besides, you’re the world’s only consulting detective—no one but you could decide what makes you ‘look the part.’ So why?” He had a sudden thought. “Should I be—that is, I’m older than—you haven’t been, er, thinking I should… do mine, have you?”

“No!” said Sherlock, startled. “Don’t even think about it! I like your hair exactly the way it is.”

“Right, so why, then? The real reason this time, please?”

Sherlock looked a bit sheepish. “Because you… you like it so much. You like playing with it. And I didn’t… I wanted it to stay the same. For you.” He looked down at his hands.

John laughed gently. “Sherlock, for a genius you can be a bit of an idiot sometimes. Yes, I love your hair, and I love playing with it.” He got up on his knees so he could reach the top of Sherlock’s head, and planted a kiss in the midst of his curls. He could still smell traces of Sherlock’s shampoo. “And I especially love that you cared enough about what I like to take the trouble.” Sherlock looked a little surprised, but pleased, at that; but even after all this time, even for John, Sherlock didn’t always take that much trouble, so John wasn’t about to let it pass without notice. “It does mean a lot to me.”

With a hand threaded through the curls at the back of Sherlock’s head, John kissed the top of his head again, then his forehead. “But you don’t need to do it. I’m not in love with your hair” —and now a kiss on the nose— “I’m in love with you.” He put his other hand over Sherlock’s shoulder and moved on his knees to straddle Sherlock’s hips, then stopped and looked at his face for a moment. Sherlock’s smile was returning. John pulled him in and kissed the smile, hard. Sherlock’s lips parted as he wrapped his long arms around John’s back and held him tight. For a minute or two there was nothing else, just their mouths moving together, sounds of breath heavy in their ears, the heat building between their bodies, and John’s hand twined in Sherlock’s hair.

John broke the kiss and took a moment to catch his breath, resting his head on Sherlock’s shoulder. He repeated: “I’m in love with you, not your hair. If it all turns grey, I will still love you just as much. Even if it all falls out, I will still love you just as much.” He used both hands to gently smooth the hair in question back from its owner’s face. “So if you want to change the color for yourself, that’s your decision, but please—don’t do it just for me. All right?”

Sherlock smiled and said, “Yes, John,” and added, “I love you too.”

They were still holding each other tightly and John could still feel the heat between them, a fire burning higher every minute. When he looked into Sherlock’s eyes he could see it burning there too. “Now,” he said in a lower voice, “a few minutes ago you said you could keep me from thinking about your hair at all. Would you like to prove it?”

John found himself abruptly shoved backward and then pressed back against the mattress with a consulting detective on top of him, grinning ferally. Sherlock’s hair shone gloriously in the bright sun. Just before kissing John in a manner that made conversation all but impossible, Sherlock answered, “Oh, _yes_ , John.”

 

"They say that time can play tricks on a memory,  
Make people forget things they knew.  
Well, it's easy to see, it's happening to me  
I've already forgotten every lover but you…"

"If you wonder how long I'll be faithful,  
Well, just listen to how this song ends:  
I'm gonna love you forever and ever,  
Forever and ever, amen."


End file.
